<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>A fatal feeling. by NikolayArlovskiy</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25466053">A fatal feeling.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikolayArlovskiy/pseuds/NikolayArlovskiy'>NikolayArlovskiy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hetalia: Axis Powers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Dark, Drama, F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:56:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,133</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25466053</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikolayArlovskiy/pseuds/NikolayArlovskiy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>She is kneeling in front of him in the mud of the road. Natalia's head is lowered, but Ludwig still feels the proud grin of the defiant Slav. She hates him. And nikogla will never forgive him for what he did. The German did not know that the war would be so hard. How many times was he going to shoot her? And how many times has he failed to do so? She, defiant but no less desirable, was now so close, yet infinitely far away. She would never be near him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Belarus/Germany (Hetalia)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A fatal feeling.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's raining. It seems that the sky is crying with the stars. The wind howls violently, and the deadly light of searchlights cuts the darkness.</p><p>She is kneeling in front of him in the mud of the road. Wet, once wheat-colored hair clung to the girl's torn back. Natalia's head is lowered, but Ludwig still feels the proud grin of the defiant Slav. Everything is going according to a calculated scenario. Now he would give her one last chance and order her to surrender, and she, no doubt thinking what an idiot he was, would only laugh softly and say the one word that Ludwig hated so much.</p><p>— Surrender, – Krautz says imperiously, pointing the muzzle of his rifle at the girl. She doesn't react, doesn't even raise her head, and for a moment Ludwig thinks Natalia doesn't hear him. But no, a strangled, hoarse sound comes to his ears - an eerie kind of laughter, if you can laugh at all in war.</p><p>— Ne. ve. r. , – Natalia says. Every sound is like a knife in the back. Her defiance irritates Ludwig, but he likes the feeling. The audacity of this proud Belarusian will captivate the German, which he is afraid to admit even to himself. But he has no right to show his feelings, and, moreover, weakness. Ludwig presses the muzzle of the rifle, as cold as Natalya's heart, to the girl's.</p><p>— Surrender, – he says, more insistently. No, a request. His voice lacks those hard metallic notes that you can't do without.</p><p>And then Natalya slowly, as if reluctantly, casually raises her head. The German caught his breath as he plunged headlong into these two great deep lakes. The water in them is as cold as Natalia's heart, much, much colder than ice. She, defiant but no less desirable, was now so close, here, sitting in front of him, but at the same time infinitely, unattainably far away. Her face is beautiful. Scratched and bruised, it is more beautiful than the faces of all the Berlin and French ladies. Icy and unapproachable, she is more beautiful than any woman in the world. Thin neck, chiseled collarbones, white marble shoulders. But perfection is not perfect either. Ludwig knows that Natalia will never love him, never hug him, never kiss him. Her heart is unyielding, and no matter what he does, this girl will always be just a beautiful picture to Krautz. A magnificent statue that can only be admired and admired.</p><p>She hates him. She would never forgive him for what he had done.</p><p>Why would this proud girl refuse to submit to him? Why should he have so much trouble catching it in the backwoods? Why, knowing full well that no help would come and no help would come, did she continue her futile attempts at resistance? Why, when her sister has given up, while her brother has turned away from her, and her former friends have taken his side, does she still look him in the eye with pride and defiance, whispering curses in her own language? Why doesn't she just walk away, pretend not to see him, and get out of the way?</p><p>Because her spirit can't be broken. European textbooks say that Belarusians are a weak nation, they have no will and character, they are modest, quiet and submissive people. How wrong he was about her! A deep scar on his left shoulder suggests otherwise. Natalia is the only one who could hurt him. The people's militia of this country is somehow stronger and more deadly than its army. Among the partisans, he often noticed both old people and very young children. The explanation for all this can only be the rebellious and proud spirit of Natalia. This is what makes it different from other countries. Perhaps the weakest person he'd ever met, she'd found the strength to fight back.</p><p>— Come on, shoot me, – Natalya almost spits out, grinning impudently. How much contempt there is in these words! She knows that Ludwig will not be able to do so. And this makes him despise the blond Aryan even more. Golden cold stars, as far away as the heart of a proud girl, are reflected in her huge dark eyes. Ludwig wants to kiss those bitten lips, gently wipe the red drop of blood running down the torn cheek, but he knows how to restrain his desires and impulses. Although each time it becomes more and more difficult. "Weakling," the girl says softly, lowering her head and immediately receiving a ringing slap in the face."I'm sorry," Ludwig thinks:《I had to... Forgive》. He knows that Natalia will not hear him, but every time he asks her for forgiveness. Her cheek is flushed, her eyes are burning with anger and hatred, and the German almost takes a step back, retreating under the angry gaze of those blue eyes - so beloved and desired.</p><p>— How noble it is to beat a woman, – the harsh words cut the silence as well as one of Natalia's knives, penetrating deep into the stale, roughened soul, where conscience should be, and so on... Ludwig lowers his rifle. Why does my heart ache so? He did not know that the war would be so hard. His brother went to Moscow a long time ago, but he stayed. Just to see her, to slowly burn with longing, seeing those eyes, lips, hands, and to hate himself for what he was doing. His usually strong hands shake slightly, but you can't see it in the dark.</p><p>Natalya looks thoughtfully at the lowered muzzle of the rifle and mutters softly:</p><p>— Wow, you still have a conscience...</p><p>The German is silent. Even if he wanted to answer, he couldn't - Ludwig doesn't know the answer. Natalia stands up heavily, knowing full well that no one will help her, and no one will stop her. She slowly picks up a weapon that has been dropped in battle - Mosin's rifle, several knives. Ludwig closes his eyes.《Leave! Go quickly!》- in my mind he prays to her. He can no longer bear this endless torture. How many times was he going to shoot her? And how many times has he failed to do so? How long would he look up at the night sky and see the eyes of his beloved, cold Natalia? How long would he hear her soft, soft voice as he fell asleep? When would he stop being crazy about her? "Please go..." the German begs her. Ludwig opens his eyes. No one. And immediately the soul becomes brutally sad and cold, as if these torments are not enough for him. The Aryan lowers his head and stands there in the pouring rain for a few more minutes, then slowly walks away, only to come here again a few days later and die again.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>